Death's Masque
by darksideofnight
Summary: The church stank of blood and rotting corpses. The bride, dressed in her white gown, looked like a cadaver, bloody on the floor. Kid approached the altar, and saw the body of the priest thrown carelessly across it. Crossover with Edgar Allan Poe's The Masque of the Red Death.


A/N: This is a soul eater fic based pretty heavily on The Masque of the Red Death, by Edgar Allan Poe, so if you want to get all the references, you should probably read it…but you don't really have to, a skimming of the wiki page would do.

And Darkness and Decay and the Red Death held illimitable dominion over all.

-The Masque of the Red Death, Edgar Allan Poe

Kid chuckled, the sound echoing on the walls of the church. The normally well-lit and bright place was dim and felt cold. Thunder sounded outside with the strength of god. He approached the large altar, sitting in its place beneath the cross. The body of a priest was lying across is messily, as though it had been thrown, though he supposed that it probably had been. He inspected the white linen covering the altar, once a shade as pure as snow, now spattered with the blood of a great many people, including the dead priest. He turned away-not because the sight offended him-but because he wished to survey the sight in the rest of the sanctuary. The colorful glass windows were tinted scarlet, and, seeing how high up they were, he didn't understand how blood had splattered that high up, but he merely shrugged. Every so often lightning would flash, lighting up the large room in a blood red color. He walked calmly down the center aisle, taking care not to step on any of the hundreds of maimed corpses, all dressed in the clothing they had deemed appropriate for a wedding. The air inside was heavy with the scent of blood, and shreds of what once must have been living flesh were strewn across the ground, in an unnervingly symmetrical pattern.

He came to one stained glass window, which was miraculously untouched by crimson. It depicted an angel, all dressed in white. He thought that the look was better suited to a cadaver, though, all clad in pure white, the color once used to dress the dead. The bride was at the very end of the aisle, still dressed in the white gown that, a few hundred years ago, would've marked her as a corpse. Nowadays, the only things that did that were the streaks of blood that covered her dress and the gray, dead, flesh on her face. He smiled, and pushed open the huge double doors. Somewhere far away, the gore made him sad, but he swallowed the feeling. That part of himself was safely locked away. He was not here for such mundane emotions. He was here to do his job. The job he'd been born for. The door swung shut with a muted pound, sealing away the tangy scent of blood on the air. He silently approached the ebony mirror at the back of the narthex. He stood before it, and heard the clang if a clock striking midnight. It was time to take his leave. He slid his bone white mask back on slowly, and stepped through, leaving a trail of blood that did not belong to him in his wake.

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"Kid, did you hear?" Maka walked next to the Shinigami down the hall of guillotines.

"Hear what?"

"People are saying there's a Kishin egg in a town a few miles from here, a very powerful one. There was a report of a mass murder in a church there...it sounded awful..." She seemed distraught, but Kid simply rested a hand on her shoulder, in a way that wasn't really comforting at all.

"Don't worry; I'll take care of it. Just focus on your own missions." She gave him a conflicted look, confused at the look of amusement which danced in his golden eyes.

"But…I'd like to do something to help…" He offered her a grin, which she returned with an even more confused expression. Since when did Lord Death seem to enjoy gore so much? She didn't know the answer, so she just kept walking.

"Don't you trust me? Besides, I know this one; I will be able to take care of it easily." He walked a few steps ahead of her so that she might not see the feral grin on his face. No use in scaring the help, after all. But what he'd said was true…he could take care of this 'problem.' Or he thought he could.

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He stepped out of the mirror. It had been weeks since Maka had asked him about the so-called Kishin, and he felt quite secure that he would not be found out. More blood dripped from his fingers, and from the hem of his robe. Strangers' blood. He nearly jumped when he saw Liz standing in front of him, tapping her foot angrily.

"It's almost two in the morning. Where the hell have you been?" He shrugged, and tucked his hands behind his back, like a child who had stolen from the cookie jar, so that she would not see the crimson on his fingers. "Is there something on your cloak?" She stepped forward to inspect the hem, but he took another step back, causing the crimson liquid to drip onto the ground. Her eyes filled with horror. "K-kid…whose blood is that?" His golden eyes were blank and dead. She took several paces away, before apparently gathering her courage. She stepped forward to pull his mask away from its spot on the side of his head…he panicked…if she touched him _now…_

"NO! Liz, don—" Her fingers lightly brushed his cheek, she screamed. Blood spilled from…everywhere, her eyes, mouth, and nose. He caught her, all traces of deadness gone; they were filled with worry, concern, and terror. It was as if he had transformed. He looked into her eyes, which, if they were scared before, were absolutely horrified now. "Liz, what…?" He broke off, she was dead. What had happened? He had no memory of what had transpired before he caught her…

Spirit entered the room the next day, and found the death god on the floor, clutching desperately at Liz's dead body, which had started to smell in the hours since death. The golden eyed boy was sobbing, staring glassy eyed into the distance.

"Oh, god…" The death scythe had to suppress an urge to vomit at the corpse smell. "What the hell happened?" Kid made a choking noise, looking up with irrepressible confusion in his eyes.

"I don't know." The question that would be plaguing the Death Scythes and there meisters for a long while after:

Just what the hell had happened to Lord Death?

A/N: Sorry if this was creepy. Eh, I said it was Edgar Allan Poe, but that got a little Jekyll/Hyde there at the end…R&R, please, and concrit is very welcome, I'm happy to improve my writing!

Edit: I'm gonna be ambitious and turn this into a multi chapter fic! Be prepared for more creepy-ness and psychotic multiple personality kid!


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